Begin Again (Severus Snape/OC Love Story)

Chapter Eight: Stunned

"It is suspected that You-Know-Who has achieved a greater assemblage of followers than initial estimates presumed. Sources whom we are unable to publicly identify at this time have exclusively informed the Daily Prophet's own E. Limus of heightened Death Eater recruitment efforts, and has additionally divulged that supporter numbers have reached well into the hundreds. Whether this enigma is the result of increasing devotion to the dark arts and pure-blood supremacy, or is simply a consequence of self-preservation or the illegal Imperius curse, remains to be seen." I read the article aloud to Ginny, who was forking her ham and cheese quiche in attempt to appear as though she wasn't listening. I'd been subscribing to the Daily Prophet ever since Hannah's mother was killed, despite Ginny's adamant objections that the Daily Prophet is " a load of erroneous, misleading, bogus cow dung" written by "fraudulent, scamming, lying gits." Sure, some of the articles and headlines might be slightly over-the-top, but in general, the information seemed legitimate to me – though I wholeheartedly wished it wasn't. The article about Hannah's mother was just the start of almost daily columns about witches and wizards being murdered or tortured by Death Eaters. It made my stomach bubble with outrage, but at the same time kept my thirst for justice alive.

"It's a wonder they are allowing us to leave the castle at all," I noted thoughtfully. It was halfway through October, and time for the first Hogsmeade weekend of the term. I'd heard a lot about these trips from my friends, and it sounded like my kind of place: pubs and shopping. Of course, it would have been preferable if it had fallen on a somewhat less blustery Saturday, but I appreciated the idea of getting out for a while.

"From what I've heard, they're increasing security at Hogsmeade – having aurors patrol and such – and Filch is being overly fussy about what he's allowing into and out of the castle. It's only for a few hours, and I suppose they figure they can't coop us up in here for an entire term," Ginny said offhandedly.

We had originally planned to visit the village together, but over the past few days, Ginny and Dean had officially become a more serious couple – "He asked me to go steady! Isn't he wonderful! Just, please don't say anything around Ron yet; it's really none of his business" she had whispered to me exuberantly before bed on Wednesday - so she had instead decided to go with him. That left me with Ernie, as Justin's parents refused to allow it outright and Susan's mom sent an owl to the school revoking her permission after the incident with Hannah's mother was published in the Prophet.

A half hour after breakfast, Ernie and I were standing in a line of students waiting to exit the castle through the massive oaken entrance hall doors. The queue was moving rather slowly; Filch, the bulgy-eyed, hunchbacked caretaker, was meticulously probing each person with a Secrecy Sensor. His ashy-gray cat, Mrs. Norris, prowled among the students, snaking around and between our legs, her bright bulbous eyes intelligently scanning for anything amiss.

"That cat gives me the creeps," I said to Ernie as she slinked past me. Mrs. Norris, who had moved to the pair of Ravenclaws behind us, craned her neck to give me a wide-mouthed hiss. I shuddered, then waited until she was well out of earshot before muttering, "I don't actually like cats...". Ernie laughed softly.

We made it through Filch's security inspection without complication, though he pored over us for ages, waving the Secrecy Sensor past each of our pockets at least two dozen times before he grudgingly gave a croak of approval, such that it almost seemed as if he was hoping he'd find something suspicious.

The trek down to Hogsmeade proved to be quite unpleasant given the less-than-desirable weather conditions. The wind had picked up considerably since breakfast, and howled chillingly as we made our way down the cobbled path, slumped forward in an attempt to keep warm. I'd failed to dress appropriately for the climate, and, regretting that I hadn't worn a scarf, vigorously yanked at the collar of my thin jacket, trying to bring it over my mouth and nose which were both stinging and raw from the brutally arctic gusts. Noticing my feeble yet futile efforts to shield myself from the frigidity, Ernie attentively draped an arm over my shoulders, adding just a tiny bit of warmth.